


Coping Methods

by thecutestprince



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 07:59:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10827114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecutestprince/pseuds/thecutestprince
Summary: Jeremy has an anxiety attack. He handles it with Mountain Dew Red.





	Coping Methods

Jeremy Heere shuts himself in his bedroom, tossing his backpack to the floor. It hit the ground like a laundry bag full of stones. His chest felt similar, like dirty laundry and jagged rocks.

It had been a shitty day, a shitty day that seemed to drag on endlessly, and yet it was only 4:02. Michael had offered him a ride home, but he had declined, and stormed home instead. He didn’t want to have to be in such close quarters with Michael for any extended period of time, because then Michael would ask him what was wrong, and then he’d have to talk past the ball of knotted yarn wound tight in his throat.

He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to talk about his feelings, about the heavy, iron cast feeling in his stomach acid. Especially because he didn’t know why he felt like such crap. He had no idea why his heart was beating like the wings of a newborn bird. Weakly. Frantically. Pathetically.

He paced around his room, unsure what to do with his heavy limbs- his arms. They were shaking, grabbing bunches of his shirt, grabbing bunches of his frizzed hair and rummaging sweat alongside whatever product he put in his hair. The interacting, hand-and-hair, made his hair all the more frizzy.

His shoes were clean, spotless, but they felt filled with swamp water. His socks were dry, but they felt caked in mud. Every time he stepped on his carpeted floor, he heard it echo against his aching eardrums. His knees were sand filled baseballs. His fingertips were dry and itchy.

In his peripheral vision, he saw a blur. He turned, and caught sight of his reflection against a full body mirror. His face was on fire. Red like crushed raspberries. Like clots of blood.

Worst of all were his eyes. They were white, white against the red of his face. They glistened with wet, piling tears.

_You look so ugly right now._

The pile of tears finally streamed downward, and a pathetic squeak left his shaky, thin lips. It was the sound of mangled kitten fur, and bent dog tails. Tiny, and sad. And disgusting.

 _This is why no one likes you. This is why no one thinks you’re important_.

Jeremy forced himself to move; he almost leapt for the mini-fridge. He tore away the Pokemon bedspread that covered it; he had found the unused mini-fridge in their attic, half-filled with year old beers. He kept the beers there, just because they looked cool.

The other half of the fridge was filled with Mountain Dew Red. As many Mountain Dew Red as Jeremy could get his hands on. He pulled the fridge open and grabbed a bottle. He didn’t bother to shut the fridge; he immediately went to twist the cap, but his sweating hands couldn’t muster the task.

 _You can’t even open the stupid bottle of Code Red. Fucking pathetic. Good for nothing_.

He inhaled sharply, a shaky breath that filtered through clenched teeth. His fingers felt thin, like tooth picks, stiff and unable to find grip against that plastic bottle cap.

_You’re no good. Nothing important, nothing special. That’s why nobody wants you around. That’s why nobody loves you._

“Damn it,” Jeremy hissed, twisting and twisting at the bottle cap. “Damn it, _God damn it!_ ”

The bottle cap finally twisted open, and out spilled foamy soda to taint his carpet. He didn’t care, though. He immediately brought the sugar sweet Mountain Dew Red to his lips, and drank it down in drowning gulps. The gulps were big enough to hurt the walls of his throat. The bridge of his nose ached; despite this soda being weeks past its expiration date, the carbonation was still there.

Jeremy drank the entire liter of soda, only stopping to breathe. He drank it until his stomach felt bloated, and his tongue felt stale. At least while he was downing the soda, he didn’t have to think about anything else, other than how much he hated Mountain Dew Red.

When he was finished, he tossed the plastic bottle aside and crawled into his bed. He hid under his blanket and sighed into himself. He was suddenly overwhelmingly tired, and his brain felt hazy. His skin felt numb, and his eyes were both puffy and dry. He closed his eyes; they were heavy.

He was going to wake up with a headache, he knew. And the Mountain Dew didn’t help the case. But at least it had stopped. At least it was over, for now.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So, this was just a random thing I wrote literally just now. I was in a bad mood and, rather than take it out on myself, I transferred the feeling to ya boi Jeremy.
> 
> I always wanted to toy with the idea that whenever Jeremy has negative thoughts, he's unsure as to whether these are thoughts he has himself, or whether they are the squip, still trying to communicate with him. Rather than confront his thoughts, and look deep into himself to figure out if these harmful thoughts are truly words he himself is thinking, he drinks Mountain Dew, instead. Why confront yourself and work towards becoming better to yourself when you can just drink soda, am I right ladies?


End file.
